Chapter 11 - Hurt
Three months.
Three fucking months isn't nearly enough to be with someone. Three months of Harm sleeping over at my place or me at his. Three months of some silly, domestic routine we fell into. Three months of amazing sex and lazy Sunday mornings with breakfast in bed. Three months of…something…something that feels incomplete because we never really talk about us - not once. It was three months of an understanding because we were both too scared to push too much. Three fucking months and I could have lost him forever.
I fully expected to find Harm's lithe body laying on stark white sheets with more cables connected to him than I could count. I can hear the beeping in my head, the whirring sounds of machines forcing him to stay alive. I will sit by his side, never leave and stay until the bitter end. I'd stay, hope and pray and then pray some more. I love him, what else was I supposed to do?
I take a breath and straighten my spine but when I enter his room I do find Harm laying on those stark white sheets but with far less cables attached to him. No whirling. No beeping and I let out the breath I was holding.
"I don't need more pain meds, they make me groggy and…" His left shoulder is bandaged and a sling pins the extremity against his torso almost as if it's broken. He's also very much awake and arguing with medical personnel about not needing a sedative. "Mac."
His eyes hold the most brilliant shade of blue - aquamarine that lightens when I come closer. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do but what I want is to touch him, kiss him, hold his body against mine and never, ever let him go. Instead I give him a curt smile. "You look better than I thought I'd find you."
"Can't keep a good man down." He gives me this cheesy grin and then rolls his eyes while the poor nurse tries to take his vitals. When she finally leaves, Harm scoots to one the side of his bed and pats the spot he was once in. "C'mere."
"What?"
"Come. Here." He punctuates and that grin widens even more. Harm pats the side of the bed again and makes a little circle with his hand. It's cute and he looks like a little boy pleading for attention. "Please?"
"No. We won't fit. I'll hurt you."
"Mac, please." His pleading shouldn't work because I'm stronger than this, than him. Somehow, I find myself lying next to him, my body
shaking while I cry into his shoulder. I should be comforting Harm but it's him comforting me and I don't know how I feel about that. "I'm alright. Everything is going to be fine."
"How'd you get here so quickly?" He's toying with the tip of my hair, rolling the strands between his fingers. It's a lazy movement that makes me sleepy and my answer is something of a murmur.
"Clay."
And just like that he stops his ministrations and I feel his body go rigid. "Webb? Explain."
I suppose we need to talk about this. The diamonds, the shooting, Webb's supposed car bombing and his fear that Sadik would come for us. I sigh and shift a little so that I'm able to look up at Harm. His face looks like hardened stone and although I've assured him that I never had a relationship with Clay, I don't think he believes me. "He showed up at my VOQ, said you'd been shot and his car had been blown up…He started throwing my things into a suitcase and basically ordered me to go with him."
"Son of a bitch." Harm growls and if he weren't currently laid up on a hospital bed I'm sure he'd be pacing. "What did he do now?"
"Not him. Sadik."
He winces at the name, undoubtedly recalling his words to me on a train in Paraguay. "He came for you."
"Us. He came for all of us. The diamonds, that case - I had a feeling it was tied to Sadik Fahd I just…I didn't want to be an alarmist." I frown, for all I knew the CIA was handling the terrorist and his cell. At least, I was assured there was little cause for worry. "I'm sorry I didn't bring my thoughts up to you sooner. I should have."
Harm sighs heavily and then begins to play with my hair again. "Even if you warned me it wouldn't have mattered. Whoever shot at me was on a motorcycle, there's no way to prepare for that sort of attack." He's right but, I blame myself anyway. "How's Webb?"
"Gone after I slugged him." I hold up my hand for him to sew the darkening bruises over my knuckles. "Son of a bitch had it coming. I told him I never wanted to see him again." And I meant it. Clayton Webb was dead to me. "There'll be a guard outside your door. Kershaw added a security detail."
"Okay, good and what about you?"
"Me?" I bite my lower lip and wonder if I should tell him the decision I had to lure a terrorist into a silly little trap that was bound to fail. I'd be the bait and though the Deputy Director swore I'd be well protected my gut tells me that I won't. I'm expendable to them, useless except for the information of crooked CIA endeavors in South America which led to the death of a few civilians.
If I died it wouldn't be in vain - a terrible man would be taken off the streets and, if I had my way - a bullet to the brain would end his life.
"Mac? Is someone guarding you?"
"Yeah. Someone is." I lie and once the medication hits and Harm falls asleep, I head off to meet my fate.
